Road Kill
by Cybertronprincess
Summary: A peculiar story for a peculiar couple. There's hardly any fanfics of these two as it is, and I had to add to the scarce amount that exist with a weird slash fic. TYPICAL! G1. Don't expect regular updates, I'll just add to this as inspiration comes.
1. Chapter 1

"Will you sit still?"

"This slaggin' thing's in the way! How do you move around without knocking everything off a table?!"

"Practise, I guess..."

"Ouch! Careful!"

"Sorry! Your wings are really cute..."

"Thanks, so's your canon. Even if it is an obstructive demolition device."

"I'm a tank, I'm _supposed_ to be an obstructive demolition device!" Powerglide chuckled and patted the larger mech's chest plate softly, earning a contented purr from Warpath. He sort of liked the kid this way; calm and content, rather than erratic and loud. The Ace of the air believed the tank's extreme and rather cocky personality could get a little annoying at times, but it made moments like this really contrast with the norm.

Warpath shifted around on the reinforced bunk, watching as Powerglide wriggled and tried to get comfortable on top of him. It was entertaining watching him get all wound up about his canon being in the way, when he could actually remove the entire thing from his chassis. But he omitted that piece of information, for the sake of his humour circuits. Besides, Powerglide had repeated, in private, that he thought the tank alt mode was sexy. He wasn't going to mess with those odds, was he?

With a frustrated sigh, the A-10 Thunderbolt slid back onto the younger mech's stomach plating, laying himself over Warpath's front with his canon pressing against his shoulder, one servo resting on it softly.

"Sorry kid, don't think any magic's happenin' until we find a way around _this_," He muttered. Warpath frowned behind his mask, which he had yet to remove. While he hadn't been outright pestering Powerglide for an interface, the M551 Sheridan had hinted lightly towards the fact that he wouldn't turn down advances of that type. Honestly, Warpath wasn't as hyped up about sex as one might think – not like Cliffjumper or a certain pair of Lambo twins we all know. He didn't see it as a pass time, more as something you did with someone you really cared about, whenever both were in the mood.

So in other words, he wouldn't go out of his way to simply seduce Powerglide into a puddle of lustful mush in the middle of a hallway like Sideswipe and Sunstreaker did to Bluestreak. He'd rather wait until his partner was good and ready, since he was always up for a round or two with Powerglide.

"Well, what if-, _ack!_" Powerglide sat bolt upright on Warpath's gut, startled by the sudden squeal.

"Sorry! Did I hurt you?!" He spluttered, removing his hand from the kid's canon to cup his cheek. However, Warpath grabbed his hand and replaced it on the protrusion on his chest, closing the confused plane's digits around it.

"D—do that again, please..."

The whimper was so needy and soft, it sounded completely _wrong_ in Warpath's voice. Yet so cute at the same time. Powerglide's ever vigilant mind quickly caught on, and a giggle refused to be repressed in his vocaliser. "You mean this huge, over-bearing, destructive piece of weaponry is sensitive?" He laughed, running his hand up the length of the canon as a means of experiment. The result was rather satisfying, as Warpath let out a low, wanton groan at the motion. "That's just ridiculous!"

"Like your self-proclaimed titles are any better, 'Sultan of the skies'." The crimson A-10 Thunderbolt's cheek plates heated up under his mask at the jab, pride kicked rather unnecessarily.

"Hey! No wise cracks while I'm in control of heavy artillery." He snapped, wringing the end of Warpath's canon pointedly. He was almost tossed onto the floor at the violent buck of crimson hips, a vicious growl making his shoulders go slack.

Warpath was younger than he was, and more inexperienced, but he was also _bigger_ than him. And while Powerglide knew full well the kid wouldn't ever hurt him on purpose, tanks tended to be rather... clumsy.

"Careful there big guy!" Warpath's large hands grasped his hips, holding him in place.

"Sorry... that felt good..." He admitted breathlessly. Powerglide gave a chuckle and winked.

"I'm glad there's no 'WHAM-BLAM-CAPOWEE' in the berth room, even when I'm technically jackin' you off." Another growl sent shivers down his spinal struts, and Warpath's mask snapped back, revealing gritted dentals. The tank's left hand grabbed the back of Powerglide's helm, yanking him down and pressing a hungry kiss against his mouth guard, which quickly retracted to accommodate the younger bot's lips.

The human custom of 'kissing' was new to all the Autobots, but after they'd seen Carly kiss Spike, they began looking into it with mild interest. Then intense interest after they'd tried it for the first time.

"What would happen if I did start screamin' that slag right now?"

"I'd have to kick you out and make you recharge in the hall." Powerglide said with a flustered smirk, cheek plates flushed darkly.

"My room."

"Mm, wonder if Prowl would be willing to let us change that..." Warpath's gulp wasn't lost on Powerglide, but it only made him laugh again. "What, living with lil' ol' me that terrifying?" He teased as the younger mech started shaking.

"Actually... I'm shakin' with... _excitement._" Typically, nobody could stand the sound of Warpath's voice. For such a burly mech, he sounded quite shrill and maniacal when he spoke. Powerglide wondered if it was because of him or _for_ him that the tank lowered his tone to a deep, sexy purr. It definitely suited him better.

"Well... good! You _should_ be excited. Yes." Powerglide sat up, looking away, embarrassed by his spike in temperature at the slight emphasis in Warpath's voice.

His fingers still lingered on the canon, and he was sorely tempted to get his own back by rubbing it relentlessly until the tank blew a fragging hole in the roof! But to his surprise and dismay, it removed itself in his hold with a click, and a smirk. "You can take this thing _off?_"

"I can."

"Why didn't you do that before?"

"You're cute when you're wriggling around a pole like implement." That slag-eating, perverted grin on his face made Powerglide torn between slapping him round the helm and storming out of the room, and rolling over and taking it like a little bitch. Oh, decisions, decisions.

"You bastard..."

"Gonna punish me for it?"

"What ever happened to that sweet lil' munchkin that used to beg for piggy-back rides?"

"He got big. He got horny."

"Primus, if I could only gain the strength to _lift_ you, you big lug..."

"The hall ain't too comfortable, y'know? Think I'll stay right here."

.X.

In many ways, Mirage found it disturbing that Jazz took a certain amount of joy in eavesdropping on their comrades' sex lives. What he found even more disturbing was that _he_ was beginning to take an interest in what his friends were getting up to in the bunk. Damn that boss of his, influencing his noble demeanour! But he couldn't deny it was entertaining to stand outside Warpath's berth room door, audials pressed against the panel, listening the the thumps and shameless moans coming from a certain, overly proud jet, and the dirty pillow talk the young tank was spewing out.

"Well," Mirage muttered. "I was not aware the kid was such a party-mouth!"

"Me neither," Jazz nodded. "Didn't know he could sound so damn sexy either."

"Jazz!"

"Aw, quit bein' such a prude, 'Raj!"


	2. Chapter 2

"Aww, d'ya miss your girlfriend?" Powerglide's spark practically leapt into his mouth as he whipped around to see a smug looking Warpath in the doorway, arms folded and shoulder braced against the frame.

"How _long_ have you been standing there?!" he squeaked, resting one hand against the key board.

"Round about long enough to hear the freaky pet names," the M551 Sheridan chuckled. "I think _I_ might start calling you 'Sugar-glider'!"

"Please don't," he strictly reserved mushy, cutesy, romantic stuff for conversations with Moonracer, who had a penchant for coming up with the most sickly sweet names one ever did hear. "And don't eavesdrop; it's creepy." Warpath snickered and stalked forward.

"I can't tell you how happy I am with this arrangement," he purred, closing the distance between him and a rapidly panicking Powerglide. "All the gals bein' safe and sound on Cybertron, while all us mechs are here on the frontlines, lightyears away from home, from any sort of distraction with tits and hips." With a squeal of panic, the A-10 Thunderbolt backed up, finding himself sitting on the edge of the rec room's communicator. "Where you are all mine."

A clunk rang in his audials, and Powerglide watched the younger mech remove his chest canon, setting it aside, leaning on the console. "Even if you do have those annoying lil' chit-chats with Moon-moon every once in a while, but that's alright. Cuz you know, even when this war is all over, and we can finally go home knowing we beat the slag outta these 'Cons, I know..." A strong, bulky servo stroked its way up his crimson wing, making Powerglide gasp and arch against him. "You'll always come crawling back to me, you lil' slut."

"'Scuse me? Just who do you think you're calling a slut?" The minibot hissed threateningly, despite his face plates being on the verge of melting.

"You, babe," Warpath laughed, pinching the tip of that cute wing. "Don't pretend you're so innocent; just be thankful I'm not as pissed off as Moon-moon would be if she heard about you playin' around."

"I have no idea what you mean, kid."

"Like hell you don't, and I'm pretty sure Astoria would be just as peeved as Moonracer." Dread seeped into his pretty, delicately designed optics, as well as unmistakeable excitement. Just the expression Warpath was looking for. "I wonder just how torqued they'd be to know that their favourite, cocky flier has been messing them around."

"You wouldn't-"

"How they'd react to the fact that you've gone further with a bot you've known since he was a sparkling than you even _considered_ going with them."

"Warpath, this isn't-"

"To know that you're a dirty, cheating whore," The M551 Sheridan's voice dropped to that dark, husky purr that made Powerglide all flustered, leaning in close and brightening his optics. "How would Moon-moon feel if she knew 'Sugar-glider' had been rolling over for her sweet lil' Tread-baby? Would Astoria be upset to know how you're some over excited psycho's obedient little bitch?" The looming was as frightening as it was sexy, and Powerglide had to squeeze his thighs together to suppress some of the heat coming off his codpiece.

"I don't-"

"I think they'd cry," Warpath growled. "They'd sob and bawl their pretty lil' heads off, while I was fucking you senseless into some storage closet wall." Powerglide panted shallowly, staring hazily at the Sheridan tank. "All the femmes back home would be cryin', don't you think?"

Without a moment's hesitation, Powerglide latched onto Warpath's strong form, mask slipping back and lips desperately hunting for the younger mech's mouth. "Shut up and 'face me 'til I can't walk!" he howled, grinding against a bulging codpiece.

"As you command, my king of the clouds." Bracing one servo on the minibot's lower back, Warpath carried Powerglide out of the rec room, canon in his free hand. "Takin' the afternoon off guys!"

"Have fun kiddo!" Wheeljack laughed from the couch, one arm around Ratchet's shoulders.

"You'll make up for the lost time with an early start tomorrow!" Prowl shouted after him, then took another sip of energon.

"Sometimes I mistake this place for a brothel, rather than a military base." Optimus giggled to himself.


End file.
